


No Strings

by Crollalanza



Series: Mad Dogs and Setter-sans [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content, Timeskip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:02:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27589268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: Kentarou blinked, rubbed his eyes and came to a sudden stop, too sudden as the top half of his body didn’t appear to want to stop and he had to rein himself in before he toppled in a splat on his face. “Ber-loody hell!”He was standing up, still applauding the end of the match. Wearing a green shirt and what looked like a Frogs’ wrist band, there was no question he could be a neutral, but he’d not watched them before, had he?“That is him, yes?” Tsukishima asked. “Your old Setter? Sorry, I can’t remember his name.”“Uh … yeah … That’s Yahaba. My old captain, too.” His mouth twitched. “Last I heard he was in Iwaki. What the fuck is he doing here?”
Relationships: Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru
Series: Mad Dogs and Setter-sans [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1419865
Comments: 18
Kudos: 167





	No Strings

**Author's Note:**

> I was halfway through writing this, when I checked the prompts for KyouHaba week and realised it fitted two of them perfectly, so Ta-Da!

Sweat dripped off his red face, even as he wiped it with his hand. Yet, staggering off the court, under a mound of celebratory backslaps and high-fives from the rest of the team, Kyoutani Kentarou could not miss the unmistakable high, lifting each footstep and lightening the usual leaden limbs at the end of a game.

They’d won the match. Nothing could wipe the smile from his lips, even if it did ruin his image as the surly cur that bore his fangs with increasing intensity as the season progressed.

Because they’d won the match with his ace serve and nothing and no one was going to erase that from the match stats.

Despite the high, as they trudged to the changing room, signing some autographs along the way, he turned his head to the right, scanning the crowd just in case … just in case … before shrugging because he’d not really expected anything else.

What did it matter? They’d won. That was beyond dispute.

“He’s over there.”

Tsukishima loomed over him.

“Huh?”

He pointed to the set of seats in the corner. “Your guest? Maybe? I thought I recognised him when I swapped out.”

“How would you—” He started to say, then followed Tsukishima’s finger. Kentarou blinked, rubbed his eyes and came to a sudden stop, too sudden as the top half of his body didn’t appear to want to stop and he had to rein himself in before he toppled in a splat on his face. “Ber-loody hell!”

 _He_ was standing up, still applauding the end of the match. Wearing a green shirt and what looked like a Frogs’ wrist band, there was no question he could be a neutral, but he’d not watched them before, had he?

“That is him, yes?” Tsukishima asked. “Your old Setter? Sorry, I can’t remember his name.”

(Which was probably a lie as Tsukishima had an encyclopaedic knowledge of anyone he’d ever played against; he just refused to admit he remembered people at all.)

“Uh … yeah … That’s Yahaba. My old captain, too.” His mouth twitched. “Last I heard he was in Iwaki. What the fuck is he doing here?”

“Maybe, just maybe, ask him,” Tsukishima muttered, and then with a grimace as he signed one last autograph, he strode towards the changing room, the limits of his PR friendly façade already cracking.

He’d not moved from his seat, and then Yahaba twisted his head looked straight at him, tentatively raised his hand, then flicked his hair off his forehead.

 _Jeez, it’s really him_.

_Aaaand he’s seen me now!_

Yet, he felt no panic or apprehension, instead pure pleasure sparked inside of him, and with what he hoped was a lazy grin (but maybe it was a snarl) he sauntered over.

“Yahaba Shigeru, as I live and breathe what are you doing here?”

“Ha, I was in the area,” Shigeru replied, voice a little breathy. “Looking good, Mad-Dog.”

“I’ve just staggered off court, I’m really not!” He gave another grin, then sensing someone behind him, he turned to see a small boy shifting from foot to foot and holding out his programme.

“I should go,” Shigeru replied. “G-great game.”

“No!” The word came out of his mouth far more vehemently than he’d meant, and the boy behind him gave a small shriek and stepped back.

“Sorry, not you,” Kentarou muttered, then turned back to Shigeru. “Don’t go, not yet. I’ll be done soon. Unless … uh … you have somewhere else to be, of course.”

“Um …” Shigeru bit the side of his mouth as he considered. “I have no plans.”

“Then … uh … wait.” He bent down, signing the boy’s programme with a flourish. “I’ll be out in fifteen. Twenty at the most. Be good to catch up.”

Yahaba chuckled. “You’ve changed. I’ll be outside by the main entrance.”

And before Kentarou could question what it was that had changed, he’d wriggled through the row of seats and towards the exit.

_Fuck me. What is he doing here?_

It wasn’t that he was unused to former teammates watching him. Matsukawa-san had been along a few times since he’d signed, as had Iwaizumi when he’d arrived back from America, and he’d even seen Kindaichi there once or twice, but Shigeru, they guy he’d been closest to at Aobajousai had never been back as far as he knew.

Closest to? Or the only one he’d been remotely close to back then.

“It was definitely your old teammate then?” Tsukishima asked when he barrelled back into the changing room.

“Yup.” Kentarou pulled his shirt over his head, dumping it in the wash basket in the corner.

“And a friend?” He sounded surprised.

“Uh … yeah, could say that.” He twisted his mouth ruefully. “More of an ex, actually.”

“Mmm, I wondered.”

“You did? Why?”

“You’re smiling,” Tsukishima replied, and gave his snarky laugh. “And it’s not remotely scary.”

It had started to rain, so he wasn’t surprised to see Yahaba inside the stadium by the reception desk, rather than waiting outside. He loped towards him, bag over one shoulder, but this time repressed the smile, settling on a neutral, and what he hoped was mild, expression. Yahaba hadn’t seen him, was reading through his phone as he approached, so he took a few moments to steady himself before he said ‘hi’ again.

His hair was shorter than the last time they’d met face to face, and he’d filled out, no longer the lean teen. But then Kentarou was bulkier too, the progression from eighteen to twenty-three, turning pro in between, showing in his frame.

And then Yahaba looked up, spotted him and stopped leaning on the counter.

_He looks taller … dammit!_

“Wow, that really was twenty minutes,” Yahaba said. “I was expecting a longer wait.”

“Might have been quicker if we’d lost,” he replied wryly.

“Mmm, I remember. You were never a fan of wallowing in defeat.”

“Leave the changing room ASAP. Show it a clean pair of heels and run it off,” Kentarou agreed. “So … um … how long have you got?”

“Me? I told you, I have no plans.” He gazed at Kentarou then looked at his hands. “Something specific you have in mind? Or do you have somewhere else you need to be?”

“No. Some of the guys get together after a match, but, well, I guess that’s not changed either.” He scuffed the floor with his trainer. “Uh, you wanna grab a beer and some food.”

Yahaba smirked—a little wobbly it was true but there was a definite lopsided grin on his face, reminding Kentarou rather irritatingly of Oikawa-san. “Sounds good. Be nice to catch up.”

They made their way to the exit, both zipping up jackets and pulling hoods over their heads. It was merely spitting outside now, and there was no wind, but they walked quickly and silently for a while through the darkening streets.

_Jeez, make small talk, Kentarou. You’re not a grumpy school kid anymore._

“Are you visiting your parents?” he managed.

“Nope. Here to pick up some stuff and—” He blinked. “Oh, I take it you don’t know about Mum and Dad.”

“Uh … what about them?” _I’d have heard something awful, wouldn’t I?_ He’d liked the Yahabas, liked the fact they’d welcomed the truculent boy into their household and not once put up any blocks to them seeing each other.

“They’re both fine. Chucked in their jobs a month back. Motorbike trip through Japan and then maybe the world.” Yahaba explained.

“Wow! What brought that on?”

He shrugged. “Life’s too short. Empty nest syndrome. Reliving their youth. Pick one or all three. Anyway, there’s a box of my stuff here which I never took to college. Do you remember Mitsuhana-san?”

From the residential home. “Mmm, walked with a stick and thought I was a ‘hoodlum’.”

“That’s her. She’d been keeping it for me.”

“She made brownies,” Kentarou recalled, not entirely with pleasure.

“She did. You were very polite about them.”

“You were the one who said they were memorable.”

“They were,” Yahaba said, “the worst brownies I’ve ever eaten in my life. Where are we going?”

“Bar just off the main road. We’re nearly there.” He indicated the way accidentally brushing Yahaba’s hand with his as he lowered his arm.

Back in the day, that would have been an excuse to link fingers, and maybe Yahaba remembered that too, because the next moment he stuck his hands in his pockets and hunched up more against the rain.

“What are you looking at?” Yahaba asked, catching the side glance.

“You have a raindrop on your nose,” Kentarou lied and slowed his pace. “Turn down here. It’s the one with the red flashing sign.”

“Classy!”

“What do you expect from a Mad Dog?” he mock-growled. “Look, it’s not the best place to look at, but it’s reasonably quiet, food is good and I’ll need some carbs at some stage.”

“Are you avoiding your hoards of fans?”

“I’m sure you weren’t this sarky back in school. Been taking lessons from your senpai, Yahaba-chan?”

There must have been something in his voice, or maybe it was his words, because Yahaba faltered, and when he looked up, he gave a small smile. “Sorry. I meant to tease a little, but that just sounded bitchy. I was impressed, you know?”

“With what? The service ace? The game?”

“That too, but you were patient with that little boy and the others asking for autographs.”

They’d reached the bar. Kentarou pushed the door open for Yahaba and followed him up to the counter.

“Is that what you meant by me changing?”

“Uh … yes, I suppose I did at the time, but then I remembered you were actually pretty good with kids. It was—” He pressed his lips together as if trying to siphon back the words.

“Everyone else I had problem with?” Kentarou suggested.

“I wouldn’t put it like that, but you were ... uh … belligerent. Today you actually –ha - looked like you were pleased to see me.”

“I was!” The barman appeared. Kentarou ordered two bottles of beer, leaving Yahaba to find a table.

“I _was_ pleased to see you,” he repeated as he sat down. “Why would you think that strange?”

Their split hadn’t been bitter. More practical than emotional, he’d assumed. Handled well. They’d kept in touch remotely for a while and then… well, it had tailed off.

“More that you _looked_ pleased as in you weren’t scowling.”

“I could throw this over you,” Kentarou muttered, picking up Yahaba’s beer. “Maybe you won’t look quite so pleased, then!”

“Gotcha!” Laughing Yahaba retrieved his beer and took a slug. “Soooo, tell me what you’re up to?”

“Uh, you’ve spent the evening watching what I’m up to.”

“Bad question.” The bottle shook in his hands. “Why the Frogs, then? How long did it take you to make the first team? Do you have another job? And what the heck is Tsukishima like?”

“Wow, a barrage! Uh… okay. The Frogs are not only local but were having tryouts. Also, their coach had seen some of our games, so it was less daunting when he knew my name.” He thought a little bit harder. “Had a first team game when I turned nineteen, but that was as a pinch server.” He’d fucked up, thought that was it, his chance gone, but the next game he’d made the bench again. “I do have another job. Uh … Tsukishima Kei is a lanky pain in butt, whose mother tongue is sarcasm. And we get on really well.”

“You do? Oh, okay. Um, what’s the other job?”

Kentarou stopped the smile, kept his face neutral while he waited for the bomb to drop. “I work for my step-dad.”

“What?” Yahaba blinked and scraped his chair closer to the table. And now he seemed interested, animated even, but the surprise was not exactly flattering. “I thought you hated him! And … isn’t he a web designer?”

“He is, and …. I never said I hated him, did I? I said he was a jerk, but then I thought everyone was a jerk.”

“True. Web design, though? Didn’t think it was your thing.”

“Nor did I. Eiji-san was looking at a new client. Like, he was more used to designing for corporate businesses, banks etc, and then he was pitching for a sports centre and … uh … asked for help. I found it was interesting and … um … I was pretty good at IT at school, it just wasn’t a Seijou thing, was it?” He gnawed at his lip, feeling a little uncomfortable now talking so much. “Anyway, it’s freelance, doesn’t interfere with volleyball, and something to fall back on, so … Um, and you? What are you up to these days?”

“Wow, though. That sounds amazing!” His eyes glittered.

He shook his head. “It’s _normal_ , Shigeru. What about you?” he asked again. “After college, did you go and work in science, or something?”

“Oh, yes. I had… um … have a job in a lab.”

He ignored the past tense. “In Iwaki, I heard.” Yahaba stared at him. “Matsukawa-san mentioned it. Also told me Watari works at an aquarium,” he added quickly, so he didn’t think he was being creepy.

“He does, yes.” He’d become tight lipped again, and gestured over to a passing waiter. “Could we have two more beers and two menus, please? Is the food here good?”

I’ve already told him that. “Mmm, not bad. So … what do you do in your lab?”

“I work in a hospital, so test results mainly. Sadly not discovering a cure for anything exotic. Lots of piss, shit and blood. Not exciting.” He smiled at the waitress as she returned. “What’s Tsukishima like?”

“You’ve asked me that already,” Kentarou murmured. “Is something wrong?”

“Ah… sorry. It’s nothing. My job is boring and a little bit awkward right now.”

“How?” he probed.

Groaning, Yahaba raked his fingers through his hair. “You’ll laugh.”

“Try me.” He reached across the table then thought better of it. “Shigeru, you put up with enough of my shit in the past. I can listen.”

“Okay, well…” He sucked in a breath. “There’s a girl.”

_A girl. Okay._

“She works with me. We started at the same time. And we got … um … friendly.” He was blushing and swallowed some more beer.

“Friendly?”

“Yes.” He sounded definite about that. “Friendly. Used to have lunch together, drink after work, a trip to the cinema. You know the sort of thing.”

“Uh… yeah.”

“Friends. Only … people started to talk. Said we were … um … dating. And I was trying to set the record straight and then … Oh God. This is embarrassing.”

“Don’t tell me. You tried to get a man to fake date you,” Kentarou said, trying to stifle his laughter.

“No. No, I didn’t. I learnt after last time!” he retorted, a little in despair. “I knew you’d laugh.”

“Sorry, carry on,” Kentarou replied with contrition.

Yahaba huffed out a breath, blowing his fringe off his face. “It turns out she assumed we were dating too, and that I was taking my time. So I told her I was gay. I was upfront about it.”

“And that’s why things are awkward? It’s her problem, not yours.”

“Well, she got upset, sobbed on a friend’s shoulder and uh … suddenly it’s common knowledge. It’s not like school, or university. There are some very conservative people where I work.”

“And you’re leaving because of that?” He couldn’t keep the shock out of his voice, but Yahaba sighed before replying.

“Not really, but it got me thinking. I’d ride it out, no question, if it was my dream job,” he said. “But maybe this is the time to go.”

“Oh. Right. I guess that’s good then.” His legs had begun to ache, the sure sign he should eat soon, so he picked up the menu, even though he already knew what he’d have. “Will you stay in that field?”

Shaking his head, Yahaba picked up the other menu. “What’s good here?”

“The grill’s always good. I’m having ribs.” His mouth watered thinking about it, and he stretched out in doing so bumping his ankle alongside Yahaba’s.

Did he just press back?

Yahaba shuffled his seat back.

 _Nope, just an accident_.

“I want to retrain,” he mumbled. “I … I miss sports, you know. Not just volleyball, although that’s the main one. Do you remember Ennoshita, the Karasuno captain in our third year?”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

“He’s a physical therapist.”

Kentarou grinned. “I know. I’ve been to see him. Is that what you want to do then?”

“No … just … I WhatsApp him sometimes, and he was telling me about Tanaka. I know you’ll remember him!”

His cheek still stung from the spike which had landed in his face during their last game. “Could say that. Why what’s he up to?”

“Well, getting married for one thing, but he’s a personal trainer. There are so many jobs connected to sport, which I hadn’t thought about before, but helping someone who’s injured or helping them avoid injury… Instructing?” He frowned a little, more to himself than at Kentarou. “I think I could do that.”

“Yeah, sure you could.” He thought a little more carefully, aware Yahaba wanted a genuine answer and not something reeled off pat to be polite. “You were a good motivator, and you dealt with the first years well. You’re smart, and you never skimped in practise. I don’t remember you carrying an injury and you were kinda meticulous about health. I—” He wasn’t quite sure how to continue, something was bothering him like a fly he wanted to swat away but couldn’t reach. “What do you mean you miss sports? Have you not played? What about college teams?”

His face closed up again, but just as Kentarou was about to pry, the waitress reappeared to take their order and he realised he’d lost the moment and Yahaba wasn’t about to open up again.

“Will your parents mind?” he asked instead.

“You know what they’re like. They’d be far more annoyed I stuck at something I hated.”

Silence fell over them for a while, broken only by the bar staff putting on the TV. Kentarou contented himself with checking the other volleyball results, laughing when they showed a Bokuto spike and his elaborate celebration. “I reckon the Jackals will win the league this year. Hinata’s really set the team on fire. Did you see his debut?”

Shaking his head, Yahaba stared up at the screen. “Your match was the first I’ve seen in years.”

 _Whoa, really?_ “I’m glad we won then,” he murmured.

He grinned. “So am I.”

Their food arrived, something of a relief to Kentarou who, never that good at small talk, was grappling for subjects that didn’t appear to be taboo. They exchanged pleasantries about the grilled meat, and Yahaba declared his sea bass was perfect, as they continued to sip beer and flick their eyes to the screen.

“How are _your_ family?” Yahaba ventured. “Sorry, I never asked. You’ve only mentioned your stepdad.”

“Ah, they’re cool.”

“Not watching today?”

“Nah. Micchan had a game this afternoon, so Mum was watching her, and it was going to finish too late to make the start of mine. She’s a Libero now.”

“Ohh, cool.”

“Mmm, she thinks she is. And Eiji-san was with Tooru cuz he had a tournament too.”

“Aww, sweet. He must be … what, seven now? What position does he play?”

“Sitting on his arse.” Kentarou replied, and chuckled at Yahaba’s shock. “He plays chess. Unlike me, he’s really smart! And he’s eight.”

“And … uh … how about your…”

“Do you want more beer?” he interrupted. “Or something else? Have you got to get off anywhere?”

Yahaba eyed him, saying slowly, “More beer’s good, unless you’re trying to get rid of me.”

“No, I’m having fun. It’s … this is good.” He chewed on a rib, wiping his hands when he discarded the bone. “Where are you staying?”

“Not really thought. My plan was to drive down and back in a day, but, well, I saw you were playing this evening, so ...”

“You drove?”

“Mmm, some of us can, you know.” He smirked then took pity on him, draining is beer. “I left it in the municipal car park. Anyway, can’t drive now, so I’ll find a hotel.”

 _I’ll give him the name of a hotel._ _That’s for the best._

He was resolved, but then Yahaba flicked his hair off his forehead again and his mouth dried. “Uh…Uck.” He swallowed and tried again. “Look, you could stay with me. I have a couch. If that’s of any use. If you want. Sorry, forget it. Bad idea.”

He ate a chip with his fingers, licking off the salt. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

“And obviously, no strings or anything,” he muttered looking down in case Yahaba spotted his pinkening face.

“Obviously,” Yahaba replied, and selected another chip. “Want one?”

Halfway down his third beer, Kentarou realised the pair of them had loosened up. Conversation was no longer sticky, and they fell into swapping anecdotes about family and school. He talked a little more about the Frogs and how they were making headway as a team, while Yahaba talked about Iwaki and his apartment, touching a little more on his work.

“Will you miss it if you decide to leave?”

“Maybe, but it’s not like it’s irrevocable, is it? If retraining doesn’t work out, then I could easily go back.”

“Find another heart to break?”

“Ah, yeah, that’s me. There’s a trail of ‘em strewn all over the hospital.” He leant into his hand, or tried to but his elbow skidded across the table. “Tell me, Ken-ta-rou, have you broken many hearts since Seijou?”

“Me? Yeah, right.” He shifted on his chair, feeling uncomfortable. “Not had the time. Not really … uh … been out with anyone. Not long term, anyway.”

“You could still break their heart,” Yahaba murmured, and pouted. “Maybe Tsukishima’s secretly pining for you.”

“Ha! No. That guy’s so self-contained, he keeps his heart and soul in separate Tupperware’s.”

“And there’s no one else out there aching for you?” His voice thickened when he added, “Or vice-versa?”

He left a beat before answering, trying to figure out the reason for the question, but then he guessed he’d started it. “Like I said, no time. And I was never much of a party person, was I? Not like you.”

“Huh?”

“You at college!” He pulled what he hoped was a cheeky, non-committal grin. “You were a right party animal. Don’t deny it. You posted stuff all over the net.”

“Oh God. You saw all that? I did _not_ know that!”

But… they’d followed each other back then, a legacy from school and dating.

“I deleted my account,” Yahaba was saying, leaning across the table. “Not everything was safe for work.”

“Yeah, I remember.” He slugged at his beer, gripping the bottle neck.

“Besides my second and third years were really dull.” Finishing his drink, he picked up Kentarou’s bottle too. “Another?”

“Uh…” He looked around; the bar was filling up with a noisier crowd out for a Saturday night. Not something he particularly wanted right now as there was always the chance he’d bump into Frogs’ fans wanting to discuss the game. “How about we go elsewhere?”

“You taking me clubbing, Mad-Dog-chan?” Yahaba teased.

“I still have two left feet, so no. Another bar, maybe?”

Nibbling his top lip, Yahaba considered. “Or back to yours, maybe?” He gave a yawn followed by a soft hiccup. “Sorry, I’m such a lightweight these days and wouldn’t be able to take a night out, however fancy your footwork.”

It was dark, but the rain had stopped, lamplight shining in the smattering of puddles on the pavements. Yahaba took several lungfuls of air, to clear his head, he told Kentarou, and then zipped his jacket up to his neck and clapped his arms across his chest. The move reminded him of a night out in Sendai, just the two of them, when snow hung in the clouds above them, falling on their way home.

“You still feel the cold, yeah?” Kentarou said.

“Mmm, and you clearly don’t, unless you’ve a yutanpo strapped to your abs.” He shivered again. “How far’s your apartment?”

“Really close. It’s by the cinema. Remem—” _No, don’t go there._

“I remember not seeing much of the film,” Yahaba laughed. “And the bus journey home was…”

“Cold,” he replied bluntly, putting a lid on whatever memories Yahaba was about to unearth.

Yahaba snickered. “That’s not what I remember the most about being on that bus.”

“Idiot teens. Thinking we could get away with anything,” Kentarou said firmly, and stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets.

“Good times,” Yahaba sighed, still with a smile on his lips. “Don’t you sometimes wish…”

Before he could finish, Kentarou picked up his pace turning the corner. “I’m down here.”

“You’ve gone and grown up on me, Kyoutani.”

“We’re not eighteen anymore.”

“I know.” He sounded bleak, but he didn’t drop back, keeping up with Kentarou until a few minutes later, they arrived at the front of his block.

A waste bin was full, its lid tilted precariously on the top, and the light from the corner shop opposite spilled into the street picking out a cracked paving stone and a muddy puddle in front of the iron stairs.

“This way,” Kentarou said, starting on the bottom step. “I know it’s not a palace, and I’m not going to promise you that it’s much better inside, but it’s a good location and reasonable rent.”

“It’s your own space. I know how important that is,” Yahaba mused as he started the climb. “Are your neighbours okay?”

“Mainly college students. Sometimes noisy, but that doesn’t bother me much.” Semi-aware of wet leaves underfoot, he tightened his grip on the rail, and was about to warn Yahaba, when suddenly he heard a muffled yelp. Instinctively he reached out, grabbed a flailing arm and pulled him upright. At least that was what he meant to do, but Yahaba held on tight, lurching forward into him and they both skidded backwards on the stairs, Kentarou landing on his arse, with Yahaba on top of him.

“Fuck!”

“Are you hurt?” Yahaba asked in horror as he scrambled to his feet. “I’m so sorry. I lost my footing! Can I help you up? Do you think you should move? Shall I fetch someone?”

He winced, and gingerly pulled himself up. “No, it’s good. I’m fine. Just … bloody leaves. I should have warned you. It’s a fucking nightmare in winter when it freezes.” He stretched, and felt his back … all good. “Okay, let’s get inside.”

“Thank you.”

“What?”

“You stopped me falling,” Yahaba replied. “In fact, you saved my life, so I should officially designate you my hero.”

“Did you bang your head?”

“And the debt is unpaid until I rescue you,” he continued.

“No, we’re all good.” Kentarou found his keys, rattling them in his hand.

“I shall serve you a hero’s breakfast!”

Opening the door, Kentarou turned to usher him inside. And was inextricably, unexplainably catapulted back five years in time to when they’d said their goodbyes. After a last date, Kentarou had walked back with Yahaba to the gates of his home. The air had been warm for March, with no wind to chill them, and no precipitation, either, but the moon had graced their final kiss and embrace with silver, just as the combination of the moon and the streetlights haloing Yahaba’s face silvered his hair now.

“What? Do you think my breakfast will be that bad?”

He couldn’t find the words, so merely shook his head then fumbled for the light switch.

It had been for the best. Both heading off for new lives, what need was there to hold on to the past? And he’d told himself that all the way to the bus stop and the journey home. And he’d continued to believe that for the next week, then month, year, then years. He’d moved on, and he’d seen and heard via others that Yahaba had moved on too. And with ease.

But right now, just as Yahaba bent down to take off his shoes, lining them up carefully, Kentarou was seized by sudden doubt. What if he’d been wrong?

_Don’t think like that. I couldn’t have … We’ve moved on._

“ _Are_ you okay?” Yahaba interrupted his thoughts, voice leeching concern. “Did you hurt your back?”

“What? Oh, no. I’m fine, honest. Take heavier falls in a game. Uh … Look, I need the … uh … bathroom. Go ahead and get yourself a beer or whatever. Fridge is over there. TV is—”

“I can see. You sort yourself out,” Yahaba replied.

“Yeah, I will.”

In the bathroom, he washed his hands, splashed water on his face and scrubbed at it with a towel. He stared at his reflection, scowling then grinning, wondering what changes—if any—Yahaba had seen. Apart from his hair, not as close-cropped and without the tramlines, he didn’t feel he’d changed much. Not in looks, but at twenty-three he knew he was calmer, having left the angry snarling boy at Seijou when he found a sense of self in work and with the Frogs.

It was for the best.

Perched on top of two cushions, Yahaba was flicking through TV channels with one hand and sipping beer in the other when he returned.

“Do you want the sport?” he asked chirpily.

“Up to you. You’re the guest.”

“But you like sport, and I have kinda landed myself on you,” Yahaba replied. He manoeuvred himself off his cushions and walked over to the kitchenette where Kentarou was fetching a glass of water.

“Well, now I feel bad for drinking while you’re taking it easy,” he drawled, taking another gulp.

“I might later. Need to pace myself.”

“Training tomorrow?”

“Nope, day off as we’ve just had a match.”

“Do you socialise much with them?”

“Me? Um … sometimes. There’s a regular group who play cards or pool. Sometimes there are team events and I’m kinda expected at them.”

“Oh dear.”

He screwed up his nose. “I don’t mind them, to be honest, and they are a good bunch of guys, but they’re older, settled, I guess.”

“Maybe that’s why you get on so well with Tsukishima.”

“It’s not ‘so well’,” Kentarou muttered, wondering how Yahaba managed to turn it into an insinuation. “We’ve got a tie through High School volleyball, and he makes me laugh. He’s a snarky piece of shit, y’know. If he’d been at Seijou, I reckon I’d have thumped him, but now …”

“I see.” Yahaba leant against the fridge. “Soooo, what do you do for fun if you’re not out with the team?”

“Discovering I was actually great company and not grumpy loser did a lot for me,” he said wryly. “I don’t mind staying in. I go home most weekends. I’ve met Matsukawa-san for a drink occasionally. Even saw Iwaizumi-san when he dropped in on a game, but … I like … just chilling, and not having to rely on someone else to lift my mood.”

“Same old Mad-Dog-chan.”

He shook his head. “Back then, I liked volleyball, but the moment the game or the practise ended, then I crashed. Being by myself was like … like …” Taking a breath he wondered whether to stop because this was all going to sound far too dramatic.

But Yahaba touched his arm. “Like what?”

“Survival instinct,” he mumbled. “Didn’t want anyone to see the crash.”

“You spent time with me after matches.” His voice was soft, soothing.

“That was different.”

“How?”

“Because spending time with you meant the crash was like parachuting down into a pile of feathers, and not jumping off a cliff face onto the rocks.”

“And now?”

“What?”

“What do you do for a pile of feathers and a parachute?”

“Ah, well now, I seem to have an inbuilt parachute. Unless it’s a really heavy loss, or I’ve stunk out the stadium, I shake it off.”

“Find that hard to believe. This is your career now! It’s more important than High School.”

“Yeah, I agree, but volleyball was the _only_ thing I had going for me back then. You know how much I hated Seijou with all the other crap going on.”

“Mmm, I see. Sorry, I shouldn’t have probed.”

He shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s in the past.”

Yahaba swallowed and stepped back. “But I brought it back. I could see that earlier when we came in. You looked like you had back then, sort of defensive and unhappy.”

“I wasn’t unhappy. I was …” He gazed at Yahaba, whose face half in shadow showed only a glimmer of the boy he’d been back then. He looked harder now, less enthused by life. _But still so fucking beautiful._ “I was thinking about you at eighteen. About us, if you must know, and that fucking bus journey back from Sendai.”

“Oh.” With the smallest of smiles, Yahaba inched his way forwards. “Which bit of the bus journey?”

“Getting on and paying, obviously!” he snapped and then laughed at Yahaba’s supremely mischievous expression as he poked out his tongue and began to lick his upper lip. “We could have been arrested!”

“For getting a bit handsy!”

“On the fucking bus!” He could feel hysteria welling up inside of him, remembering the time, and the exhalation of danger. “You were the worst. Pulling me into cupboards at school, and stacking the fucking gym mats!”

“You loved it.”

“Agreed.”

Yahaba took one more sip of his beer, placed the bottle on the counter and then reached out to stroke Kentarou’s face, his finger tracing his lips.

“What are you doing?” Kentarou husked, not moving away.

His eyes flickered, and in a not quite steady tone, Yahaba said, “We won’t get arrested here.”

“Uh… I thought … uh … are you sure about this?” But even as he raised objections he was kissing Yahaba’s fingertips.

“No strings, you said, but maybe a tiny spider’s cobweb. Gossamer thin,” Yahaba breathed. “One night, only, yeah?”

“Are you drunk?”

“Not in the slightest. Okay, maybe a bit … merry … but…” He draped his arms around Kentarou’s neck and stared down at him. “Bit of fun? For old time’s sake while I’m here. Celebrate your win.”

 _And he’s definitely taller than me now,_ was one of the dumb thoughts running through Kentarou’s mind, the others being ‘what the hell are we doing?’ vying with ‘Jeez, he’s fucking hot!’. Then as Yahaba began to kiss his neck, his insides prickled, and he was kissing back, allowing himself to be pushed up against the fridge and letting his hands twist around Yahaba’s waist. 

Yahaba was tugging at Kentarou’s shirt, loosening it until his palm found his stomach, splaying across his abs, and with a low moan Kentarou slipped his hand down the back of Yahaba’s jeans as he felt his own belt buckle being undone.

“You sure about this,” he managed to gasp. Then his breath hitched as Yahaba cupped his crotch.

“Oh, yessss.”

“This is madness.”

“But sooo good,” Yahaba soothed, rubbing his hand up and down his cock. “Or do you want me to stop?”

“Haaa, no,” he keened, and gave himself up to the pressure, as his own fingers hamfistedly tried to undo Yahaba’s jeans.

“Not yet. I’ll wait,” Yahaba whispered, batting him away, and increasing the pace until Kentarou was rock hard in his hand. And once he was there, Yahaba slowed the movements, moving closer to kiss Kentarou on the mouth, drifting to his neck, alternating between biting his ear and urging him closer.

“You like that? Slow? Fast? In between?”

“Haaa, anything!”

“Grip tighter, or looser? Are you still the same, Kentarou?”

“I … I don’t know. Jeez, don’t stop.”

“Do you want to move somewhere more comfortable?” Yahaba offered, half removing his hand.

“No… no, stay where you are.”

“Of course.” He kissed him again. Kentarou opened his eyes and saw he was being observed, Yahaba watching for every expression, a sly smile lilting on his lips. And then he moved back to his ear, turning into Kentarou’s neck. “Do you have condoms?”

“Uh … what?”

“Condoms. Do you want to use one?”

_Wait! WHAT?_

Jeez, they’d never gone that far before. It wasn’t… they hadn’t … and while he had now, and it was… tempting, definitely, but … some vestige of sense kicked in … _too intense, too soon_ …“No,” he lied, ignoring the pack in his bathroom cabinet which were probably out of date anyway. “I don’t have any. Sorry.”

“Then I’ll carry on like this.” Yahaba gripped so hard, Kentarou jerked in his hand, close but not quite there, a low growl in his throat. This was good, but too soon, too desperate. Then Yahaba pulled away, using his fingertips instead. “Not so fast,” he hissed.

Even as the blood roared through his brain, Kentarou could hear the quiver in Yahaba’s voice, and feeling a little disconcerted by how one-sided this was, he moved forwards. Sparked by a memory, he began to lap at Yahaba’s neck, then sucked his earlobe. Hearing a whimper, and feeling Yahaba fumble, Kentarou whipped his hand in between them and finally tackled not just his belt buckle but the fly buttons before delving into his boxers. Yahaba, for all his earlier nonchalance and control, was just as hard, just as eager and just as on the edge as Kentarou, and now he seemed to be flailing, his movements becoming jerkier, less refined, less teasing and more uncoordinated. Seizing his chance, Kentarou unfurled his hand then grasped them both. He took over the pace, slow then fast, gentle then squeezing, watching Yahaba’s face as he gave himself up, lips trembling and panting harder.

Kentarou kissed Yahaba on the mouth, plying his lips apart with his tongue, crushing them together as in fast fury he drove them both on to climax. Yahaba was gasping, yelping a little into the air, suddenly tautening , eyes wide open as he thrust and came—the final spur for Kentarou who blurted out a laugh and then buried his head in Yahaba’s shoulder.

And who’d be first to break the awkward silence which had descended? Thanking whatever deity was overhead for both the dark kitchen and copious supplies of kitchen towel, Kentarou turned away to clean himself up.

“You still laugh, then?” Yahaba managed after a while, sidling next to him to wash his hands.

“And you still turn me on,” he breathed, and twisting around, he dropped a peck on his shoulder. “That was crazy.”

Yahaba swallowed sidestepped back to the counter and picked up his beer. “Yeah, really mad. It was good?” He sounded unsure.

“Yeah. And now I want another beer to celebrate.”

“Celebrate?”

“My fantastic win, of course,” he said with a chuckle and opened up the fridge.

But Yahaba didn’t laugh back, wasn’t even smiling, but staring down at his hands.

“Hey,” Kentarou chided, plucking on his sleeve. “That was an unexpectedly mind-blowing end to a perfect day. Are you okay?”

“Mmm, sure.” He drank his beer. “No strings, right?”

His hand stilled on the fridge door. The evening had been blissfully crazy, but normality would have to resume soon. “No strings,” he agreed. “But beer, TV and sleep, alright?”

Yahaba sniffed and turned away. “Deal.”

“Hey, Shigeru.”

“What.” He blinked, perhaps astonished Kentarou had called him by his name.

Kentarou ruffled Yahaba’s hair, letting his hands twist in the silky strands. Shorter than the floof from school, but when he’d held him earlier, the smell had been the same. “Forgot to say how much I like your new look.”

The awkwardness receded, drowned out by the combination of beer and television. Handing him an old tee, Kentarou unrolled the futon and brought out his spare bedroll.

Yahaba emerged from the bathroom, the tee shirt reaching to his thighs, just below the boxers, exposing slim brown limbs and smooth skin.

“Uh … sleeping arrangements?” Kentarou said gruffly, then coughed to clear his drying throat. “I can move things out the way, if you’d rather … uh … no skin off—”

“My nose,” Yahaba cut in. “You used to say that a lot.”

“Hum, yeah. Anyway… what shall I do about … uh …”

He mimed shivering and hurried over. “I’m stupid tired and a bit drunk, so I’m not going to be tempted to ravish you again. And I’m also bloody cold and could do with a Mad-Dog yutanpo keeping me warm.”

“Suits me.” Dumping a pile of blankets on the futon, Kentarou grinned up at him. “Make yourself a nest.”

As Yahaba fell asleep, Kentarou kept the television on for a little longer watching his face in the flickering light. In repose, he looked younger, less fraught and more open, and he wondered if he shook him awake whether Yahaba would talk properly or clam up again. The role reversal gnawed at him, and after watching for a little longer, he turned off the television, deciding he didn’t want to know anymore, and settled back to sleep. The movement caused Yahaba to throw an arm across his waist, and he drifted off, sighing at the irony that they were finally spending a whole night together five years after they’d split up.

It was around five when he woke, a little cold, so he pulled the blankets closer around his neck. Something nagged at him, and as he groped to the side, it hit him the bed was empty. That’s not right, he thought and still groggy he raised his head. There was no light from the bathroom, so he sat up, twisted his head, until finally he thought he saw a form by the kitchen sink window.

“Hey,” he muttered. “You’re not running out on me, are you?”

“Be one way to avoid the morning after conversation,” Yahaba replied.

“We need a conversation, do we?”

“Maybe not.” As he raised a glass to his lips, Kentarou padded across the floor towards him.

“You okay?”

“Mmm, thirsty that’s all.” The glass was shaking in his hand, water slopping over the rim, so he placed it back on the draining board with a rattle. “Sorry.”

“What for?”

“Yesterday, last night. I kind of invited myself here and then … uh … forced the pace.”

“I wasn’t exactly objecting.”

“But would you have made the first move?”

“Uh, honestly?” Rubbing the back of his neck, he thought about it. “I dunno. Maybe not. I did keep thinking how good you looked, and there was this constant reminder of ‘us’, and … like, I hate the word chemistry, ‘specially using it as an excuse for everything, but it was there.”

He got himself a glass, let the water run until ice cold, then half-filled it, taking a slow gulp and all the while aware that Yahaba was slouched over the sink, his hands gripping the counter top.

“I fuck up again,” he mumbled.

“Huh … what have you fucked up? I … Shigeru, I’m glad you made a move.”

“Because it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

Kentarou kept quiet, remembering of old how Yahaba needed to talk things through, especially if it was rattling incessantly around his head.

“I should _not_ have come back, but it was ... I had to come and get the box from Mitsuhana-san, and I took a look inside, while eating her horrible brownies,” he laughed and sniffed, choking on his words, “and I knew what was in it. I knew exactly what I’d left behind, so I shouldn’t have been surprised, and yet… it still cut me. The memories. The nostalgia. The waste!”

“What was in it?” he asked, but he thought he knew.

“My Seijou jacket for one thing, team sheets, flyers from matches we’d played, even a roster I’d taken down from the notice board on our last day. Photos of everyone.” He swallowed. “Photos of us. Hadn’t seen any of that for five whole years.”

“You left all that behind?”

“Yup.”

“Why? I thought you’d have wanted your jacket at least. You were captain. That wasn’t a waste. It was cool. I kinda imagined you wearing it at university tryouts, or hanging it on your wall, because you were so proud of leading us out on court.”

“Because I didn’t want those memories!” he spat. “Do you have yours?”

“Uh, yeah. I wore it to tryouts. Thought it would help. Um, why wouldn’t you want to remember?”

And then he stood up straight, gripped the glass in his and so tight, Kentarou was scared it would break, and poured the rest of the water down the sink. “Because I missed you, Kyoutani! You dumped me, and I was a fucking mess!”

“Uh… what?”

“And tonight wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wanted you to want me again, to miss me like I’d missed you, and then I’d have walked off, left you desperate and wanting more—” He gulped, a wracking sob catching his throat, raw and wounded. “I knew exactly how to get you going. I remembered every part of your body and how it responded. But what I hadn’t calculated was you remembered things too. And also how good it was with you. How good it had been.”

“I don’t understand. You were partying all the time at college. You were having fun. I didn’t dump you! It was mutual. For the best. We both agreed!”

“No, _you_ said it wouldn’t work. _You_ said that neither of us had time for a long distance relationship. And when I tried to protest, you wouldn’t listen!” He dropped the glass into the sink, the clang perhaps waking up his senses, because when he spoke again, his voice was calmer. “And I still don’t really know why you wanted to end it. You were the gutsiest person I knew, and yet you wouldn’t fight for us!”

The glass hadn’t broken, hadn’t even cracked. Fishing it out of the sink, Kentarou rinsed it and then stood it upside down on the draining board. “Do you want tea?” he muttered. “Or coffee?”

“Is that all you can say?”

“No, but I think we need to talk properly, and standing by a sink at half-five in the morning ain’t cutting it.” He touched him on the arm. “Come on, let’s talk.”

Over coffee, and sitting cross-legged at the table, Kentarou watched as Yahaba blew the steam away, his breathing calmer, and then he began.

“You know what school was like for me, right?” Yahaba nodded. “I hated it. The only subjects I was any good at were PE and IT. I’d have done better at Date Tech, you know, but I got in because of volleyball and in the end it was the only thing I took from the school.”

“What does this have to do with anything?”

“You were heading to university in Tokyo. I was staying here, and at the time, if I didn’t have a decent tryout, then I was looking at dishwasher in a restaurant as my life for ten years.”

“And you thought that mattered to me?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think I thought of you much, which was selfish, but … you talked about me visiting you, and I panicked. All I could think about was how stupid I was, how you were studying science and all your friends would be brainiacs like you. Shigeru, we were heading in different directions. I left Seijou vowing I’d not go through that crap again, that no one was going to look down on me, or pity me for being fucking dumb.”

“Dumbass.”

“See.”

“You were never dumb.” He sipped his coffee then placed it back on the table. “Why couldn’t you tell me any of this?”

“Because … because I knew you’d try and talk me out of it, and I was ‘Mad-Dog-chan-the-moron’ who acted first and thought later. Double edged sword, cutting myself and everyone around me.” He breathed, wondering why he didn’t feel better for having confessed. “And you were fine. You were out every bloody night, it seemed.”

“It’s very easy to fake happiness on social media, especially when I was desperate to show you how good a time I was having,” Yahaba scoffed, but gently. “I spent my first year getting drunk, partying and … uh … sleeping around. It was only when I realised I my results were plummeting and I could get kicked out, that I knuckled under.”

“I missed you as well, you know,” Kentarou mumbled. “It was hard not having you around, and I nearly cracked. Came close to getting on the train to see you a once or twice, but I talked myself out of it.” Drinking more coffee, he let it swirl in the cup before continuing. “I did genuinely think it was the best for both of us.”

There was a long pause. Kentarou drank more of his coffee, peeping at Yahaba over the rim of the cup, waiting for him to speak, to rage again at him, maybe to even get up and leave.

“I never asked,” Yahaba said at last. “How are the dogs?”

He held back the relief, chuckling instead. “They’re both well. Dango had another litter—Mum wouldn’t let us keep one of them this time. Mochi still thinks he’s a puppy.”

“Bet they miss you!”

“I see them most weeks.” He eyed Yahaba’s almost untouched coffee. “Drink up.”

“Ah … I forgot to tell you I take it without sugar. How I drank this syrup back then, I’ve got no idea.”

“I’ll make you another. No sweat.”

Yahaba shook his head. “I’m tired. Think I might go back to bed.”

“Sure. I’ll um try not to disturb you. Unless … um … you don’t mind company. To keep you warm, obviously.”

“Kyoutani Kentarou, what are you suggesting!”

He held up his hands as if in supplication. “Sleep, I promise. I’m knackered, too.”

They settled down together, wrapped in blankets at first, and then just as Kentarou was closing his eyes, Yahaba reached across and stroked his hair. “What happened to the tramlines? I liked them.” His fingertips traced the path where they used to be, and Kentarou smiled as his scalp tingled under the unexpected caress.

“Careful,” he murmured, and stretched his arm out to gather Yahaba closer. “You’ll get yourself into trouble.”

“How much trouble?” Yahaba asked.

“The ‘grab that point while you’ can kind of trouble,” Kentarou said, and stared into his eyes.

Tired eyes, with dark circles underneath, so he smoothed his thumb across Yahaba’s cheek, and whispered, “Another time, maybe. We’re both tired.”

“Not too tired for a drowsy smooch,” Yahaba replied and snuggled closer. He stifled a yawn. “I always did like snogging you.”

_I like it too._

Yahaba’s breath was warm on his neck, his breathing even. “Do you have practise tomorrow, or plans?” he asked. “Only, it doesn’t matter what time I leave, so if you’re free we could catch up a little more.”

“Uh … sort of. Like, I don’t have practise, but I’m going home for lunch,” Kentarou murmured. “I missed the last two, and I can’t really duck out again”

“Oh… of course, I understand. It’s not a problem. I will make you breakfast and then go and find the car.” His eyes closed, eyelashes fluttering onto his cheek, lips pressed shut.

So final. As if he were gone already.

“Come with me,” Kentarou said on impulse.

His eyes flew open. “Huh?”

“You come with me for lunch.”

“No, it’s your family. I can’t. It’s intruding!”

“Course not! They’d love to see you again. ‘Specially Mum!” He watched Yahaba bite his lip as he thought, and dusted his lips against his brow. “No strings, honestly, just come for lunch, say hi, and walk the dogs with me.”

“You sure? You’re not being polite.”

“Jeez, I haven’t changed that much. Since when have I ever been polite? Come with me.”

“Um… yeah, if you’re sure it’s okay, then I’d like to.”

**< <Yo, Mum. I’m on my way. I’m getting a lift so you won’t mind if he stays for lunch, will you? >>**

He could imagine his Mum’s consternation but couldn’t quite resist the urge to tease her.

 ** _< <HE!!!! Who?>> _**she fired back. **_< <A teammate?>>_**

She’d not liked his last boyfriend much, but had made the effort to welcome him—vet him with her invitation—which had actually been the death knell on their relationship. That and Itsuki disliking the dogs on sight, refusing to walk them.

**< <A friend.>>**

**_< <Do I get a name?>>_ **

**< <Sorry, phone running out of charge. See you soon>>**

**_< <I know it’s not!>>_ **

Chuckling, he shoved his phone in his pocket.

“What are you cackling at?” Yahaba asked, slowing as he turned a corner.

“Winding Mum up,” he replied. “She wants to know who my guest is.”

“You’ve not told her I’m coming then?” He’d borrowed a shirt from Kentarou, turquoise, almost like a Seijou training top, and with shades on to shield him from the sun’s glare, Kentarou was strongly reminded of summer training sessions, walking to and from the gym bumping shoulders and linking hands.

“I’ve told her someone is giving me a lift and they’d like lunch.”

“You’re mean to your lovely Mum!”

“Yeah,” he said cheerfully. “But it’ll be worth it to see her face. And Michiko. God, she might even stop scowling!”

“Wow, wonder where I’ve seen that before!” Yahaba laughed.

It was exactly noon when they arrived. Yahaba parked in the drive at the side, and together they strolled towards the house.

“This is new,” Yahaba mused, bending down to touch the rockery. “Did you ever get your volleyball court in the back garden?”

“Not exactly … but they cleared more at the bottom, which is now lawn and Micchan stretches a net across it sometimes to practise with friends.”

“She’s serious about volleyball.”

“Mmm, so far.” He stopped walking, wondering if his mum was lurking and waiting to fling open the door.

Key in the door, he called out a welcome, slipped off his shoes as Yahaba picked at the knots in his trainers. “I’ll go through,” he whispered. “Wait a bit will you?”

“Not sure I like being presented as a surprise gift,” Yahaba grumbled.

“Honoured guest,” he replied. “Mum, where are you?”

“Kitchen, come through!”

There were three of them in there, Tooru peering over his books while his dad helped him with his homework. Kentarou’s mum had stopped chopping vegetables and was filling the kettle. A normal family scene, one a few years ago, he’d have avoided and stomped straight to his bedroom, but which now warmed him. His mum frowned on seeing him. “Where’s your ‘friend? _Please_ don’t tell me he cancelled.”

“Taking off his shoes.”

“Hmph.”

“You’ll like him,” Kentarou told her.

“I’m sure, but I’d have liked a bit of notice that you were—OH!” She broke off, her eyes widening as she looked over Kentarou’s shoulder. “OH MY GOD! SHIGERU-KUN!”

“Shigeru?” Eiji-san removed his glasses and blinked.

“Who?” Tooru muttered.

“Hi.” Yahaba bowed in the doorway, looking sheepish. “Hope this doesn’t put you out, Arakawa-san.”

“No, no, of course not!” She rushed at him, completely bypassing Kentarou in her eagerness to greet him. “My goodness, you look well! How have you been? You work in a hospital now, is that right?”

“How do you know that?” Kentarou asked, curiously.

“I still talk to Shigeru’s mother, Kentarou. We didn’t stop being friends just because you two … er …”

Eiji-san had stood up, striding over to pump Shigeru’s hand.

“Who is he?” Tooru muttered, sidling up to Kentarou.

“Old friend of mine from school,” he replied. “Ex-captain of the volleyball team.”

“Oh … your old boyfriend,” Tooru replied in a tone so matter-of-fact Kentarou spluttered.

“How d’you know that?”

“Neesan said something once.”

She probably had as well, and Tooru would have remembered it because of his capacity to retain the minutest pieces of information.

“Uh … yeah he was,” Kentarou muttered. He watched as Yahaba answered twenty or more questions, all with bemused grace and was ushered to a seat while his mum busied herself with making him tea.

“What’s all the noise?” Michiko walked in, saw her brother and half raised her hand, shuffled past Shigeru without acknowledging him and over to the fridge to get a coke.

Kentarou smirked at Yahaba who grinned back.

“Good to see you, Micchan,” he called out.

“Huh?” She half turned, mouth open, and then the perpetual sullenness disappeared from her face as shock and amazement vied for favourite expression. “YAHABA-SAN! What are you doing here?” she shrieked and dashed to hug him.

“Wow, you’d think I’d get a greeting like that once in a while,” Kentarou said, sounding bored.

“He’s jealous,” Yahaba said, smiling up at her. “You’re looking good, Micchan. Your brother tells me you’re a Libero now.”

“Mmm, for Minamisan, same as Nii-san.”

“Are you going to Seijou like him, too?”

She rolled her eyes. “God no! Hoping for Niiyama.”

“My sister, the Queen,” Kentarou said, pleased when she stepped up to him, and gave him a hug, too. “You won, yeah?”

“We did. It was close though. I saw the highlights of your match. You had a great game!”

“Cheers.”

She whipped back to Yahaba. “So why are you here?”

“Passing through,” he said mildly. “Saw your brother was playing and decided to watch.”

“You should have come to see me,” she said airily. “We won by more. I did an amazing dig at the end of the second set from this fierce serve. Even Dad was impressed and—”

A silence enveloped them. Michiko buried her nose in her can of coke, his mum’s hand stopped chopping the vegetables, and his stepdad blinking furiously, pushed his glasses back up his nose and loudly started to explain something to Tooru. Yahaba was staring at Kentarou, before hurriedly looking away.

“That’s good,” Kentarou said neutrally.

“Well, I’m glad you had someone there to watch you,” his Mum said far too enthusiastically. “Sorry none of us could make it. Next one we’ll all be there!”

“It really doesn’t matter,” Kentarou replied, meaning it. He took a breath, still aware everyone was waiting for a reaction. “How did you get on, short-stuff?”

“Got to the quarters,” Tooru muttered, and scowled.

“Lost by a whisker,” Eiji-san informed them. “And against older students too.”

“Nice!”

“Ishigawa-senpai was very proud of you. She’s going to present him with a certificate in assembly, isn’t she?”

Yahaba stared curiously. “Ishigawa-senpai? Any relation to our Ishigawa?” he asked, referencing a girl from Aobajousai, head of the cheer squad in their third year, sometime mentor of Kentarou.

“Could say that,” Kentarou replied. “It is our Ishigawa. She’s Tooru’s form teacher. Not sure she believes we’re related.” He ruffled Tooru’s hair, then noticing Yahaba had finished his coffee, he drained his cup. “Uh, want to take the dogs out?”

“Can I come too?” Tooru said, leaping off his seat.

His stepdad pulled him back down. “No, finish your homework before lunch.”

 _Thanks,_ Kentarou mouthed, then walking into the garden, he whistled for the dogs. They bounded up to greet him, Mochi as excitable as ever, nearly knocking him over, and Dango licking his hands as she wriggled through his legs.

“Hey, fellas,” Yahaba called, and crouched on the grass, giving them both hugs and burying his face in their thick white fur. “Ohhh, they do remember me.”

“Of course. You still smell the same,” Kentarou replied, then coughed. “Um, probably. Like sweat, skin and hair. They remember all that stuff.”

“Clever dogs. Smell is a powerful sense,” Yahaba said, breathing in. Getting to his feet, he continued to rub Mochi behind the ears. “Where are we heading for?”

_Who knows?_

“Um, the copse. They like it and it’s not so far that we can make it back in time for lunch.”

They walked quietly, with a small buzz of conversation based around reminiscences of High School. Ishigawa had been one of the nicer parts of Kentarou’s Seijou experience, willing to help him, and supportive of the team. In a way it was like her benign presence was here again, smoothing the path ahead for them both, whichever direction it went.

But when they reached the copse, the dogs paddling in the shallows of the stream while they leant against a tree, Yahaba broached the subject which had always refused to scuttle away.

“How are things with your Dad?”

“Ah … you picked up on that,” Kentarou replied, a little wearily, “Hard not to with everyone working so hard to pretend nothing had happened. We. Don’t. Talk.”

Curling his fingers around Kentarou’s hand, Yahaba squeezed. “Must be hard.”

“You know something, it’s actually not. It was, but the longer he leaves it, the easier it is. Out of sight, out of mind, I guess.”

“Except when Micchan comes out with something.”

“Yeah, but that’s their embarrassment. I have tried, you know. I’ve actually been the adult here, because hey, guess what, I am one now, but he won’t give ground. I leave a ticket for him for every match. He knows that, but he never uses it. I’m not sure he’s ever seen me play pro, at least I’ve not seen him there.”

He was dry eyed, speaking neutrally as if narrating a documentary about someone else’s life, but after a wince from Yahaba, he became aware he was squeezing him back and released his hand.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’m sorry he’s not there for you.” He stretched his fingers. “I used to wonder if the reason you’d finished with me was so you could make up with him, and that … kind of felt okay, sort of. We do anything to please our parents, right, and live up to their expectations. It made a little bit of sense in my head.”

“Us splitting had nothing to do with him, I promise.” He leant across, primary to caress Yahaba’s cheek with his little finger but then withdrew. “At least, I don’t think so. I dunno, maybe subconsciously there was something in it. Nothing like parental disgust for dragging your worth through the gutter. But it’s gone. I can’t please him, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to, not even if I made the National team.”

“You really are much happier now, aren’t you?” Yahaba mused. “More settled in your skin.”

The dogs were running towards them, Mochi with a ball he’d found in his mouth. Something normal in what had been a bizarre weekend of memories, regrets and maybe a different future. “And you’re itchier, right?” Kentarou said. “You want to move on and mix things up.”

“I guess, when you put it like that. Maybe I’m more like my parents than I thought.”

“Where do you think you’ll retrain? Any idea?”

“One or two ideas. Any suggestions?”

Mochi had reached him dropping the ball at his feet, so he picked it up, tossed it in the air, a wide, wide arc giving him the freedom to run for all he was worth.

Kentarou took a breath. “There’s a course at Sendai. You could come back here. No strings, obviously.”

Then Yahaba reached around the tree to pull Kentarou close, cupped his face in his hands and planted a lingering kiss on his lips, sliding his tongue inside. He chuckled at Kentarou’s immediate response. “And what if I want there to be strings, Kentarou? What would happen then? Would you run a mile?”

“Tie me up, Shigeru, however tight or loose you need,” he whispered. “I’m going nowhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> Four years ago, I wrote No Date but what we Fake and had a glorious time getting this pair together with fake/fake dating and silly advice from their senpais. I think this is the last in this series. I mean never say never, but this kind of wraps it up in my head.  
> Thank you for reading this. It's been an absolute blast and I'm really grateful for the kudos and lovely comments.


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